


Supernatural shorts

by seraphim_grace



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-03-04
Updated: 2012-01-17
Packaged: 2017-10-16 02:35:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 33
Words: 14,909
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/167506
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/seraphim_grace/pseuds/seraphim_grace
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>These are prompt fills, comment fics and other miscellaneous short fics and deal, loosely, with a variety of themes. 1 chapter has suggestions of wincest/non con but only suggestions</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Paganism - a pagan god watches Dean

Paganism. Dean hated paganism. It was right up there with witches, Twilight and the Osmonds. It wasn't paganism per se, that he hated, just all pagans with their touchy feely herby crystal stuff and pagan gods who wanted to eat people. Seriously, something had gone wrong in translation there.

Pagans didn't offer their gods human sacrifices, they burned candles and if the god was particularly lucky danced around naked under the moonlight, usually to something awful like Jethro Tull, or pan pipes.

Eostre wasn't much different, unfortunately, she wore a kaftan style dress with spider web lace on it and about fifteen braids, all in different colours in her hair. The only way Dean knew she had been a goddess was less to do with the bucket of southern fried chicken she was munching on than the adulation of her black robed quartet of witch-pagans, who were burning funny smelling herbs and smearing themselves with lambs blood. And one of the pagans had brought pie.

Of all the hunts where Sam had said, "she's a pagan goddess of fertility and easter eggs, how bad can she be?" before vanishing to watch some Independant French film about agriculture and ballet in a movie theatre that looked especially grim. "You're always saying we get no alone time."

So that was how Dean found himself tied, blindfolded, to a stone altar - which was normally the kind of thing people noticed in Arkansas but had not come up in his research - as four not nubile girls -it was never nubile girls naked in these scenarios, it tended to be old ladies who had shucked their diapers- smeared themselves in a mix of lavender, white sage, dried oregano and animal blood whilst dancing around the altar and fire to the panpipes of Jethro Tull. If he hadn't been so disgusted with the whole setup he might have been embarrassed.

When Castiel appeared, notable for the sort of blanket flapping sound of his wings and the fire dipping as the not-nubile, seriously these were all fat middleaged women with paunches and varicose veins, pagan dancers beat a hasty retreat back to Jeanane's stationwagon, Dean just wanted the altar to open up and swallow him.

And it wasn't like they had caught Dean per se, more that he accidentally stumbled into their enclosure with their slaughtered lamb, and got a face full of pixie dust and cooking herbs and fallen on the altar. Eostre being one never to miss an opportunity, even if she was basically harmless, wanted to sacrifice him, not with a knife but with four blood smeared and overweight librarians. This was why Dean hated pagans. It wouldn't have been so embarrassing if they wanted to kill him.

He hadn't even been offered dinner and Sam got the movie.

Castiel pressed two fingers to Dean's head without removing the blindfold and whispered sleep.

\---

When Dean awoke the fire was still there but he was lying on soft warm grass, but the ropes were gone, the blindfold stayed. "Shush," Castiel said, "I am with you."

"Goddess," Dean stammered.

"Dealt with." Dean thought he might have, but wasn't sure, that he heard a muffled voice of protest. "It's a beautiful night, the goddess's magic is gone." Dean was sure he heard a hmpf that time but Castiel silenced his protest with a kiss and Dean didn't care that much, he loved Castiel's kisses.

Oh, Dean thought to himself, left over mojo, after all Eostre was a fertility goddess, "Cas, let me take off the blindfold." He wanted to be able to see his lover.

"No," Castiel replied and ran his tongue up the side of Dean's face, "I want you to keep it on." He started to nibble along the side of Dean's jaw as he undid his shirt, opening Dean up to the elements. "Do you trust me?" Castiel asked, his voice was a husky whisper in Dean's ear. Dean just opened his mouth and strained for more kisses with a groan. "Do you trust me, Dean?" Castiel said, and Dean could feel his lips against him but he was just out of reach.

"Yes," Dean said and Castiel kissed him, his tongue deep in his mouth and the taste of him against the roof of his mouth as the clothes vanished, peeled off him, one by one. Castiel could kiss, he kissed with all his being and a fair portion of his grace. "Do you love me, Dean?" And Dean didn't want to answer that but he could feel Castiel in the grass beside him, warm and vital and there were those kisses and those finger tips and...

"Just this," Dean said reaching out for more kisses but Castiel pulled back again.

"Do you love me, Dean?" Castiel pressed. He seemed insistent and if he was withholding kisses Dean could man up and tell him that.

"I do," and Castiel's mouth was on his throat.

"Do you promise to love me?" Castiel asked between nipping bites and licks on his nipples.

"Yes," Dean said arching back his head. Cas was an angel, he probably needed to hear that kind of stuff.

"Say it, Dean, say you promise to love me." Castiel gave a long and lusty suck of his left nipple and then pulled back, letting the flesh tighten in the night air "promise to love me for ever."

"Cas?" Dean asked because this was getting weird and then Cas parted his legs with one hand and the other cupped his balls just so, because Cas was a master at this, he knew Dean so well and knew exactly how to touch him.

"Say it, Dean." Castiel said and pressed up behind his balls, "Say you promise to love me forever."

"I promise to love you forever, just don't fucking stop." Dean didn't whine, but it sure as hell sounded whiny to him when it came out.

Cas was smiling as he kissed him this time, his hand slowly jerking Dean's dick which was more than happy to see him. "I promise that I will love you forever, Dean." He said and then kissed him again, before reaching around to tongue his ear and Dean wanted to melt, and might even have come if not for the squeeze Cas gave to the base of his cock. "Not yet, love." He lowered his mouth to the column of Dean's neck and sucked hard, enough to surely leave a hickie.

"Cas, if we don't get on with it you're going to be flying solo." Dean said his hands on Castiel's shoulders as much to hold him down as because he needed to touch.

"Will you cherish me, Dean?" Castiel asked into the curve of Dean's neck.

"Anything," Dean whispered.

"Say it, Dean, promise me you'll cherish me."

He was palming Dean's balls again, his fingertips rubbing against his asshole and Dean was going to come, he was, but Castiel stopped him again. "Promise me you'll cherish me."

"I promise," Dean said, digging his heels in the grass. "I promise I'll cherish you, just please stop teasing me."

"Good, Dean," Castiel said softly, smirking against his cheek, then his hands were slick and wet and rubbing just there and just dipping inside and it felt so good and there was a breeze slowly running over his chest and Dean wanted this, he wanted so much, and he was so close but Cas just wouldn't let him finish. "I promise to cherish you too, forever and after."

His mouth trailed a wet line down Dean's stomach as his fingers pushed in and hard, giving a single wet kiss to the top of his cock before taking in as much as he could with an open and wet mouth, letting Dean's cock stroke the back of his throat as he pushed and twisted and reached with his fingers. Dean was going to, going to.... Castiel removed his mouth and stopped his fingers. "Promise to love only me."

"I promise, I fucking promise to love you, forever and only you, just please don't stop." Dean knew he was whining but seriously Cas wanted to have this conversation now! for a second he thought he could hear a woman laugh but then Cas was sucking his dick again and it didn't matter, he'd obviously imagined it, and against his foreskin he heard Cas say, "I promise to love only you."

Cas pulled his fingers out and Dean let out a high pitched whine, "shush, love," Castiel said, "I am here."

As a woman behind him, Eostre clearly, said, "I now pronounce you married, you may fuck your wife." And even as Dean jumped Castiel pushed in. Which was good because it meant that Dean didn't immediately process what she said as he just wanted more, and wrapped his legs around Cas's hips so he couldn't stop, and Cas was pistoning into him and kissing him and his hands were possessive and there was mud everywhere and grass and fire and Cas pulled off the blindfold so Dean could see him and Cas looked so proud and so happy and Dean felt full and complete and loved.

They could deal with the marriage in the morning, right now Dean just wanted to fuck that proud face unto Castiel until then."


	2. Sith Happens! - Cas is a Jedi, Dean is not = starwars fusion

Jedi aren't supposed to feel, that leads to want and want leads to the Dark Side. A Jedi sacrificed that, because to achieve true equilibrium one had to give up a piece of oneself. The Dark Side was always there, lingering at the edges of the force, seductive, promising power, fulfilment and safety.

Castiel had never expected to find it embodied in a single person.

The son of the governor of Aldaaran had been tested as a Jedi when he was a child and decided to be too unstable, to temperamental. He lacked the self denial and devotion to do anything than yearn, he would have fallen to the Dark side before he finished his first day of study.

Yet that was the dichotomy, he was a good man, glorious in the way that good men could be, shining with health and joy and that tiny kernal of loss that was his memories of his mother. He was a Knight of the Republic, but not a Jedi, never a Jedi, merely a shining, remarkable human being.

Castiel stamped down the admiration, admiration led to envy, envy led to the Dark Side. He suspected however, at least on one level that he was wrong about it being admiration, he suspected it might be lust.

He sat cross legged overlooking the city of Aldaaran Prime, head raised in the typical meditation pose but he found it hard to find his centre, how could any one focus on the Balance when the governor's son was wrestling in the courtyard with his fellows, shirt off and courtyard dust stuck to his sweat.

Admiration led to lust, lust led to hunger and anger, those things led to the Dark Side. It was better to sacrifice, Castiel knew, to give those things to the Balance.  
Yet he wanted to know how the skin on the side of his neck tasted, something he had never wanted to want. He wanted to slide his hands down that chest, sculpted from fighting not like the concubines in Coruscant. He wanted to bite into the soft flesh of his lips and feel the breadth of it for himself against his tongue.

He wanted.

He tried to give himself to the balance, to recapture the serenity that came from being a Jedi, listening to the sounds outside the window, the grunts and laughter. That way led the Dark Side he knew, but he wanted.


	3. Dream a little dream of me - Cas finds Dean dreaming of him

Cas enters Dean's dream for some reason. He is surprised to find that Dean is currently having a pleasant dream involving a very naked Cas. Dean freaks out that Cas is in his dream until he realizes that Cas is turned on. Cas and dream!Cas both get it on with Dean at the same time.

 

Dean knows it's a dream, of course it's a dream. He's at a small intimate gig played by Led Zepplin in their glory years and they're singing his favourite songs by all his favourite bands, and there's really only him and Cas and the beer is Czech and on tap and the bar is open = of course it's a dream, but it's a bloody good one.

And because it's a dream he can grope Cas's ass and grind as Robert Plant croons "you are the reason I can't control myself" and Cas is kissing him, and he's lost that awful flasher mac and switched it for old black jeans and a band tee with leather straps around his wrist because Dean didn't even know he had a Cas wrist kink but he does now and it's perfect.

"Don't stop on my account." Another Cas says from the opposite side the room. His eyes are dull and his lips glistening, in that awful cheap suit Dean can see the flush of arousal on his neck, his ears and Dean just thinks "this is the best dream ever!"  
Holding Rock!Cas's wrist in one hand he walks across the small dancefloor to Regular!Cas and kisses him, long and deep, trying to scour the taste of him out of the other's mouth, as the rock!Cas grinds against him. "I'm not your dream, Dean," Regular!Cas says pulling away, a line of saliva joining them still.

Dean started back, the words "oh fuck" forming on his lips because this was it, Cas might not smite him for dreaming about him, but kissing him, and kissing him like that, all wet and sloppy and tongue - that was a one way ticket to a smoking crater.

"What makes you think you couldn't have had this if you just asked?" And even in this Cas is cold, distant and alien. He looks across at the band and everything changes. THey're in a hotel room and there is music playing, for him, Cas and Dream!Cas, strings and a beat box and a throaty woman's voice. "I want to watch you," Castiel is saying as he gestures to the huge white bed, "I want to see what you do, what you want to do, I want to watch him," he looks at his dream self, "make you come undone." He grabs his dreamself and kisses him, hard, "but there are rules of what I will allow you and what I will do to you. Show me, Dean, just how far you can push me."

And the song is super sexy as DreamCas pulls his tee over his head, the sleeve catching in the leather straps around his wrist, "I'm so tired of playing, playing with this bow and arrow," the woman sings on the radio, "for I've been a temptress too long."

"Don't touch him, Dean," Castiel chides from the chair as he sits down, "just let him touch you." And Dean knows now that Cas is completely in control as Dream!Cas undoes his shirt and unwraps him like a gift. Caressing with his eyes and but not his hands, and that leather strap the only thing he's wearing because this is a dream and these are the details that linger.

Then Cas' mouth is on his nipples, his hands stroking up the sides him and the other Cas is watching, his gaze impassive and almost cold but Dean knows, knows! that Cas is controlling this, that Cas is watching as dream!cas squeezes down on his midriff, biting into the cords of his neck and shoulder and all Dean can do is buck uslessly because he can feel everything but he's so warm and comfortable and loved and this is a dream and he can't quite move.

Even when, completely ignoring his erection, not enhanced by it being a dream, dream!Cas lowers his tongue and licks, tentative at first then strong deep laps that feel like he's trying to scour the skin away and just touch Dean's nerves and Dean is making porn star noises, he knows it, he can't help it, as dream!Cas points his tongue and spears it inside.

"I know what you want, Dean," Castiel says from the chair as he stands up, coat gone, and undoes his belt, "dreams are reality to me and I know your soul," and the woman is singing "give me a reason to love you, give me a reason to be a woman." And Dean knows what he wants, he wants Cas' dick inside him so far he can taste it in his throat, he wants it in his mouth so far down his throat he can feel it in his ass.

And dream!Cas climbs up his body, cock nudging at his lips, wet and slick and such a dark red, and behind him Cas is nudging at his ass, worked open and slicked by his doppleganger and Dean still can't quite move when Cas manhandles his legs around his hips and the other works open his mouth to force his way inside.

"I just want to be a woman," the woman sings as Cas and Dream!Cas both push inside, one pulling out along his tongue as the other pushes in against his skin and he is coming undone, he's going to explode into the cacophony of guitars in the song, "don't you start being a man," she sings and he is grunting against the cock in his mouth, running along his tongue, fucking his mouth in counterpoint but the same rhythm as the cock in his ass and they've barely touched him, used him to take their pleasure and it's so fucking good.

 

When Cas comes they do it together, messily inside him and over his face, then Dream!Cas is gone, because this is a dream, and real Cas is kissing him, licking the other him's semen from Dean's face. "You could have this and more," Cas is whispering against his ear, "you only have to ask." And Dean wants to ask, he does, he wants more than anything to ask, but instead the song rolls over and Dean rolls over into Cas, burying his face in Cas' neck because that's safe, as the angel strokes his hands down his back, "anything you want," Castiel reassures, "as always it's always for you."


	4. Burning Down the house

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean does a striptease in women's underwear

Dean is uncomfortable, not sure if he's more embarrassed or turned on or feeling just plain stupid. The panties he understands, the fabric is slick, French cut because the woman in the shop assures him that they are more comfortable but she lied, and what kind of shop is it that they knew what he wanted and what he wanted it for.

It's the torture device she called a waspie that has him baffled, it's not high enough to support breasts he hasn't got, or low enough to hold in his stomach, not that he needs it, just tight enough to make it hard to breathe.

Well, that's his excuse and he's sticking to it.

He was going to get panty hose over stockings but the girl in the shop was dead against it, and so gave him a pair of black stockings with lace hold ups and offered, with both eyebrows waggling to help him shave his legs, whilst the guy who owned the store was like - no, leave the hair, trust me.

The funny thing is that Dean kinda did.

So he's standing in front of Cas in a waspie, stockings and french cut panties and Cas is, as always implacable, and Dean's not sure if this is a good thing or a bad thing or if he's gone too far but Cas said that they could explore as much as Dean wanted and he whispered in his ear about the panties and it got Dean so goddamn hot that he's practically hit Victoria's Secret the next day to discover he hadn't the first idea and...

Cas is licking his lips.

He didn't see that before, and Dean's sure that if he needed to breathe that Cas' breathing would be ragged, but his fists are clenched like he's holding back the apocalypse all on his own, and Dean gets it, he suddenly gets it.

He gets the music on the stereo, something Sam suggested rather than AC/DC's you shook me all night long, something bassy with a heavy beat and, the colour of the silk, a greyish moss green, and the lace, antique dove apparently, and the noise his panties make when he moves and how they hide as much as they reveal, the fabric fluttering in that French cut about his ass and he swallows.

Pink silk panties, he thinks, as he grabs Castiel's tie to pull him up into a kiss, no contest.

Dean pulls back from the kiss, and licks his lip, savours the taste of the angel there and then steps away from his hands, "you can look," he says, aware of what's happening, "but you can't touch, if you touch, I'll stop." Dean's not sure he will, but Cas doesn't seem to care, he's licking his lips, his thumbs rubbing against the skin of his fingers in anticipation, his eyes narrow and his nostrils flaring. These are the signs of his arousal.

At the stereo he checks the box and chooses track 4, Burning Down the House. He kinda remembers it but it's the one Sam had said years before was guaranteed to get a girl out of her panties - although to be fair Sam had been incredibly drunk at the time in a case involving Dolls and he had said a lot of things that night.

The song has a bassline that surges through his spine, and the beat finds its way along his skin as he begins to move, stocking feet against crappy carpet to the place where Castiel sits on the bed. The first thing to go is Cas' tie, then the trench and then his suit jacket so he's sat in his shirt. And Cas is biting his lips, unconsciously reaching out to kiss, to touch, but Dean moves backwards. "Just watch," he says calmly.

Dean's seen enough porn to know how this goes, how to tease with the fabric, how to make the silk pull and twist along his skin, which actually isn't as sexy to feel as he thought, the elastic pulls, the lace scratches and the boning... he doesn't want to get started about the boning, but there is this thrum deep in his belly that's almost but not quite like starvation, and his skin veritably itches, prickling with a touch that's not quite there yet. He feels like he's covered in goosebumps as he raises his leg, places his foot between Cas' open thighs, not quite close enough to touch, and begins to roll down the stocking.

The guy in the shop was right, as Dean rolls down the nylon, running it over the leg hairs which are all standing erect because he's just that electrically charged right now, Cas actually groans. Like a coquette Dean turns his head away and pulls the stocking back up.

Cas makes a sound like he's been deflated.

Dean moves his hand to the grey silk of his panties, rubbing it over his ass, then down to where his cock has glued itself to his stomach, so hard it hurts but the silk feels good and the soft sussuration of his hand as it moves the fabric is enough to make him gasp.

"You want this?" he asks the angel sitting on the bed.

Cas' eyes are almost slitted, his lips glistening with saliva and slightly open, dragging his teeth over his tongue like he might recapture some taste there. "Stockings or no stockings?" Dean asks, and just like that Cas is on him, and they're folding down to the floor as Cas practically mauls his neck with kisses. Dean grabs his hair in both hands and pulls him up for a kiss as Cas struggles with his belt and eventually gives up, just unzipping himself to reveal his erection and then rubbing it against the silk.

If Dean thought his hand had felt good he was wrong, because this is better, much better and in his ear a man is singing, "three hundred sixty five degrees, burning down the house," as Cas rocks and ruts and rubs into him, and Dean has his hands in Cas's hair, nails in his scalp, and Cas are up under the silk of his French cut panties pulling the elastic over his hips and the carpet is rough and because of the corset he can't quite catch his breath, and it's good, so good, oh god, oh god, he breaks the kiss with a cry as he comes against the angel, who really isn't that far behind.

As he catches his breath he hears the man on the cd sing "baby what did you expect, gonna burst into flame," and he just laughs into Cas' neck and thinks, next time they're doing this, he'll make sure he's the one facing the bed, because carpet burn is a bitch.


	5. Films about ghosts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a series of sentence fics based around songs - features suggestions of onesided Wincest

films about ghosts

Family  
Born to Run  
Sam felt love in the back of the Impala with Dad's old fashioned rock blaring out, never as agressive as Dean's but heavy, hearty, sexy none the less. Yet when he heard it he was always five years old again. Sometimes he welcomed it, sometimes not.

Azazel  
Time is on my side  
The demon had all of eternity to make his decision, to choose. Of course it would be the Campbells, they’d thwarted him once, that was enough.

The inevitability of corruption  
The Sound of Silence  
They stared into the abyss everyday, surely when it looked back it left a little trace of itself, in the shadows between buildings, in the fading warmth of a brother’s touch on his shoulder. Sam knew that if he clung to Dean, if he never let go, the abyss would never have him.

Dean  
Dakota  
Lying in a field with a bottle of cheap hooch, gum and shooting the breeze. Funny that this was the best way to make Sam happy, listening to the wet chewing of his brother as they watched the stars overhead, and he was Sammy, and he was loved, and he was the most important thing in the universe, and lying like that amidst the grain, he felt it.

Castiel  
Inner Universe  
Alien, foreign, unusual, twisted, envious, cold, calm, ineffable, divine. Aeria Gloris.

Dean is saved, again, by the angel.  
Damn Sam (I love a woman that rains)  
He’s just there, Dean said, he’s like a hurricane, a comet, but he's a dick and Sam knew that last bit is a coda, an addendum added just for him, because he saw the way that Dean looked at the angel, and the way that the angel looked back.

The inevitability of corruption  
Pet  
The abyss wasn't such a bad place, Sam thought, as he watched Dean sleep, as he ran the very tips of his fingers over the curve of Dean’s jaw. When the nightmare threatened he leant in and with a whispery breath said, “go back to sleep.”

Ruby  
Minerva  
Dark haired now, petite, a high school musical doll with a dirty mouth and violent eyes. “God bless you," she sneered as he fucked her. And then she laughed.

Adam  
For the Restless  
Stupid boy, dead meat walking, and Dean was jealous, which just made it more delicious. He had no idea what lurked under his bed, literally. A quick cigarette against the side of the truck to hide the smell of blood on his breath, just waiting for Dean to say something, anything. He never did.

Memories of Jessica  
Long way Down  
Jessica had been sweet like cookies and when Sam missed it it was with an ache like he had been kicked. But she was gone, and he almost enjoyed these moments, it reminded him that he’d been a fool.

To want, to need, to take  
Sleep to Dream  
Dean offered it up to anyone who’d take it, girls, boys, fucking angels. Yet he never saw the way that Sam stared at him. The siren had made it all so clear. Dean didn’t want a woman, he didn't want a perfect life, he wanted his brother and he would get him.

The sweetness of the dark  
Sex on fire  
Sam lay next to Dean on the bed, pretending to sleep. Dean still wore his jeans, Sam in his boxer shorts as he gripped the pillow tight, clenched his teeth and rubbed his erection against the back of his brother’s thigh. He was asleep, Dean would tell himself in the morning as Sam’s ragged breaths sucked him in and held him there, and Dean wouldn't talk about it.

Coda  
Me vs you  
Memories were films about ghosts, about the death of someone you were only a moment ago. Romantic films, tragic films, porn films, Sam thinks as he strokes himself, remembering the feel of Dean’s mouth when he kissed him, pinned him to the wall with his thigh between Dean's, and the taste of him, right before Dean punched him and walked away.


	6. Dean Castiel sentence fics

Be Quiet and Drive by the deftones

 

The car is quiet with Dean behind the wheel, the air has a tight claustrophobic taste but the windows are wound tight. Castiel sits in the passenger side without a word between them, not even a gear lever to seperate them, instead the silence stretches like continents; like oceans. Dean stops, taps his fingers on the wheel looking for words. “I’m not,” Castiel says firmly, and then like night the silence descends on them, between them. It is possessive, overwhelming, but looks like two men in an old black muscle car, without knowing what it means to be in that car, to be in the passenger side, how Castiel doesn't want to admit it but how it feels like belonging.

 

Mission by Chris Cornell

The motel carpet feels like sand beneath Castiel’s feet as he stands up, shoes and socks shucked off, trench folded over the back of the chair and leans over where Dean sleeps. Castiel can smell the mint of his toothpaste, taste the soap on his skin, see the places the skin is pulled taut from shaving with his noisy electric razor. Castiel, silent, breathes him in, watching the resulting exhalation move the hairs at the back of Dean’s neck where they rise and curl. He slips off his pants and shirt before climbing into bed beside him, sure Dean won’t wake. He never has before. In the morning he’ll be back in his chair, fully dressed and waiting, but it’s not morning yet.

 

Did my Time by Korn

Castiel throws Dean against the wall hard, following him in one of those movements that’s not quite human, pressing him down with hips and hands and everything between. It is not, despite it’s appearance, a sexual thing. He is using his hips, his thighs, his hands and his body to dominate, to cow, because the alternative is to beat this being into a bloody pulp. He’s angry. It’s new and he doesn't like it, he wants to destroy, to annihilate, or possibly to lean down and suck the blood from that split lip. “I made this decision for you.” He says and it’s not nearly enough, “I made it," he pauses, “for you.”

 

From the Edge of the Deep Green Sea by the Cure

The lake stretches out in front of them, trees around it’s horizon and a small jetty with a folding cloth chair. Dean is fishing, or at least dreaming of it. He hasn’t had this dream in a long time. The air is salty and sweet with summer, verdant with the elder trees and the freshly damp turn of last year’s fallage. Castiel sits on the wood beside him, trousers rolled up and feet in the water. Neither of them say a word and Dean doesn't know if this is him dreaming of the angel or the angel dreamwalking with him, he doesn’t care. This is heaven, he thinks, just this, just the lapping of the waves against the wood, the slow exhalation as Castiel breathes, the way the taste of him, a perfunctory kiss before he sat down, lingers on Dean’s lips.

 

History by bush

Castiel doesn't look at the stars. He doesn't look at the sky. He looks at the ground, at the wonder therein. He looks at Dean, at the imperfections which make him dazzle. He looks at Sam, at the darkness and rage couched there. He looks at mysterious stains on motel room walls. He looks everwhere but the heavens. He doesn’t try to remember it. He thinks about the present, the here, the now. He thinks about Dean, but he doesn’t think about what he has lost, what he sacrificed. He accepts that this is it- That he’s made his bed, and now he must die in it.


	7. Days like this

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The aftermath of a bad hunt

Dean knew that there would be days like this. Days when nothing went right when even the Winchester brand of FUBAR would be considered an improvement. There had always been days like this. Days when no matter what you did it didn't work, that sometimes no matter how hard you tried there were people you couldn't save.

He knew that.

It just didn't make it easier.

So you did what you had to do to get through the night, because they were long, and the things that went bump in them were a pleasant enough distraction. If you killed this maybe you could make up for not being quick enough with that.

Still, sometimes all there was was an angel sitting shirtless on the edge of the bed because his back was just one great big purple bruise and gravel rash and burn. And they'd given everything. Sam broke two knuckles punching the frame of the door in frustration because it just wasn't enough. And Dean, Dean walked out of it without so much as stubbed toe which just made it worse.

Yeah, they'd stopped it, they'd just been a little too late. Minutes maybe. But it didn't matter, too late.

And the act of applying neosporin to an angel of all things just... Dean knew Castiel was letting him do it though the cream was cold and then stung like a bitch, and it really wasn't worth more than a good shower even if he couldn't heal it, but on days like that, sometimes you made sacrifices. Sometimes you lit candles and walked away. Sometimes you drank. Sometimes you took the cash you were going to use for dinner and gave it to some homeless person to eat the meal you couldn't stomach.

Sometimes you put neosporin on an angel becauhse you needed to touch, to reassure, to feel something under your hands that wasn't tainted or twisted or flawed.

Sometimes you'd rest your head on the dimple at the back of his neck and just breathe him him in.

But Dean didn't do this.

he sat barefoot, crosslegged on the motel bed and ran his hands, slick with neosporin, over the graze's on the angel's back, making comments about how he'd be one big bruise tomorrow, and wasn't a purple sky at night a shephard's delight, because day's like this happened- whether you wanted them to or not. And you reacted the same way that you always did - whether you wanted to or not.


	8. shaving - 5x04

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean shaves Castiel

Fic: Untitled Shaving ficlet  
Fandom: Supernatural  
Author: Seraphim Grace  
Feedback: Always appreciated and replied to.  
Rating: G  
Pairings: Dean x Castiel  
Warnings: Adult scenes and adult situations; spoilers for season 5.04

There's so much wrong with Cas, with this new Cas, this future!Cas that Dean doesn't know where to start. Maybe it's the clothes that make him look like he's escaped from Prisoner Cell Block H. Maybe it's the blown pupils and dopey grin. Or maybe it's the fuzz across his face and dishevelled hair.  
Cas always looks end of the day immaculate, worn, tired but clean and well kept. This Cas looks like he rolled off a wagon through a hedge and hasn't bothered to keep himself clean.

Dean knows he does, after all Cas says it, just before he uses the word Orgy.

Maybe it's the dislocation of brain and hand that leads Dean to it. Maybe everything is already so fucked up that he doesn't know where to begin, but this he can do. "Sit," he tells the angel and quirking up a smile Castiel sits on the wooden chair.

He fills an old tupperware bowl with water and some of the liquid soap, it's not perfect but it will do, swirling it around with his fingers. He sets it down on the dining table beside which Cas sits, then from his boot he pulls out his knife. The liquid soap dispenser is placed beside it.

"You look like a bush," Dean says, "I can do this at least."

The face cloth is handknit, a ragged thing of garter stitches that slumps at one end, but Dean drops it in the water and wets the angel's face thoroughly, then applies a layer of the liquid soap with his hands.

Castiel's face is warmer than he expected.

He keeps his knife sharp so he knows what he's doing, he has no worry about cutting the angel as he starts to shave him, on his cheeks with slow dextrous pulls. "I can't believe you didn't ask my other self to teach you this." Dean snarks, bringing himself back to familiar ground with the angel even if this is all fucked up from the left side down.

"Sometimes Sarah does it," Castiel answers and Dean acknowledges something dark twist in his gut, he doesn't know what it is, but it's not pleasant. His hand slips and a line of bright red blood appears on Cas' cheek. Dean angrily wipes it away with the face cloth.

"Not often enough," Dean answers and tilts the angel's face up to start shaving his neck. It should say something for trust.

"She uses a plastic thing." Cas says, as Dean drags the knife, dips it int he bowl, swishes, lifts the knife again "not a knife."

"It's because I'm special." Dean grouses.

Castiel agrees. "Yes, you are."


	9. Castiel possesses Dean

Jimmy had said that being possessed by an angel was like being strapped to a comet, what he hadn't mentioned was that the strap was that glue that they used in adverts where they hung men upside down over cliffs.  
Dean wasn't sure he liked it.

All of his nerves were on fire, but it didn’t hurt, they were just ALIVE. Sight had volume. Taste had resonance. Sound was in colours. It was damn freaky.

They were in a golden plain of wheat under an amethyst sky and Dean was perfectly aware that he had been bodyjacked by the angel and yet he was stood there, amongst the wheat and small red berries, naked and yet clothed, and Castiel was there too, smiling at him, and his face wasn't Jimmy’s, wasn’t Clare’s, wasn’t burning bright and shining, it was just Castiel.

There was a soft wind stirring the wheat and Dean knew, because one did in dreams, and with Castiel off doing whatever he was doing with his body, he was dreaming, that the wind was the sighs of children.

Then Castiel stepped forward and it was as if he touched him though there must have been ten, twenty paces between them. It was as if he ran his hand, his tongue, his breath along the curve of Dean's bicep.

The wheat had turned to snow, but it was warm and there were fireflies in the air. “I am sorry that I must do this.” Castiel said and his breath and his tongue and his hands were everywhere. “That I had to borrow your body. I know you cannot enjoy it.”

There was a gap between them but Dean felt like he was falling, as Castiel looked at him, and touched him, and licked him and breathed him in as if he was smoke, all at the same time. And of course Dean was aroused, because it was well, damn hot, and he gasped as he felt Castiel part the cheeks of his ass and lick him, there, but he was sucking his cock and he was stood across the snow looking at him.

As Castiel smiled it was as if he had a hundred hands, or a thousand, and a million mouths and each of them was on Dean as his cock pushed inside him, as Dean fucked his throat, and Castiel just stood there in the snow and smiled.


	10. Dean's gay freakout

Dean woke to look at Castiel, lying on his side in the bed, snoring, and he wasn't sure which freaked him out more, that he had a) slept with the angel, b) slept with a man, or c) woke up with someone, something that other than Sammy, who didn't count, he had never done, not even with Cassie.

He stumbled downstairs to where Bobby and Sam were stood in the kitchen grinning at him like they had just gotten the best present ever. Bobby was holding a lemon geranium.

"Ha," Sam said, "and you can never tease me for my gone pink in the wash gay pants any more!"

Dean just put his head in his hands and groaned. "Can't a guy just emo in peace anymore."

"No," Bobby said, "and look, we got you a house plant, a LEMON geranium."

"This is revenge isn't it?" Dean said.

"gone pink in the wash pants, Dean, for twenty five years!" Sam exulted.

"This place could use a woman's touch." Bobby did a spot on impression of Dean when he put his mind to it.

"I'm trying to freak out here." Dean said looking at them.

"Oh, poor baby," Sam grinned, "let me get you a coffee, a half fat moccachino with chocolate sprinkles." He looked at the expression as it crossed Dean's face and added "oh shit," as he realised that he had gone just that bit too far and his brother was going to kill him. If he ever caught up to him.


	11. Castiel talks dirty

Castiel isn't human, and sometimes Dean forgets that, and when he does his pretty illusion is brought crashing down. When Castiel gets excited, angry or frustrated he talks funny, not strange per se but like he's quoting shakespeare or some shit, and Dean really shouldn't get off on it, but he does.

So when sex happens between them, with that sort of fatal inevitability like night following day Dean kinda braces himself for the poetic shit. He expects there to be flowers and comparisons to stars or something.

What he does not expect is that Castiel intones. It's stentorian, a word he picked up from Sam and never thought he'd actually use.

"You prostrate yourself before me, asking me to slake your need." It's almost contempt and desire and it's like talking to fricking Homer and if he compares him to Odysseus and Ithaca Dean is going to shoot his load like a newbie with a hair trigger. "You wish me to worship you, to worship in you, but the only offering you bring me is your seed, your mortal flesh." And Castiel drags his mouth the length of Dean's neck. "The pulsing of your blood in these fragile veins. You are obsessed with the corporeal." But his hand doesn't stop on Dean's cock, it doesn't stop the burning thrust of Castiel's own inside him. "You want this," a thrust, "as if it will bring you closer to God, closer to me. We are all god's children, Dean," another thrust and Dean is so close and if Castiel doesn't stop talking it's going to be all over. "And this is the most ancient," thrust, "form" thrust and Dean is arching into his hand, "of," Dean buries his grunted ohgod into Castiel's shoulder, "prayer."

Dean comes.

Dean's head lolls against the angel's shoulder, and Castiel, fuck him, is serene, quiet, as if he hasn't just come in Dean's ass, as if his cock isn't softening there now. It's felicitious and Dean likes that word, it's the sort Cas uses during sex.


	12. Lucifer!Dean 1

When the light faded around the underground chapel of the small convent Sam thought it was strangely anticlimactic. Oh look, we've released Lucifer and all we got was this cruddy light show. Then Dean turned around and his eyes were strange, not demonic, but not human either. The irises were solid green, like like poison.

Then Dean smiled and worked the kinks from his neck. "Well that was a pleasant nap," he said, "buried here in this boy's unconscious." He looked at Sam, "aren't you going to run off screaming, or do I actually have to do something?"

Sam's mouth made open and close motions. His brother was the devil. He did what any sensible human would do in the situation, he stood there working on his goldfish impression.  
"go on," Lucifer/Dean said shaking his hands at him, "get out." Sam was horrified, struck dumb and couldn't move. "Oh for god's sake." Then he simply popped out of existence.

Later when the mess of the "alien" invasion had been cleared up, because giant squids just didn't appear and terrorise the earth, eating angels and demons before burping and exploding into a morass of rather fertile goo, still waving Castiel in one tentacle like a child's rattle that Sam realised that Lucifer was still his brother, and he didn't want the apocalypse any more than they did.

Of course, the things that tentacle had done, while Castiel, suspended above New York, laughed his head off, it tickles!, weren't really repeatable.

And when the goop had slid down there was a brown haired man standing next to the angel, caught live on CNN, as the brown haired man with the poison green eyes grinned, a Dean grin, a shit eating grin, and said "I always did do the opposite of what I was told." Before he decided to take advantage of the camera and stick his hand down the angel's pants.


	13. Hellfire

Confiteor Deo Omnipotenti  
Beatae Mariae semper Virgini  
Beato Michaeli archangelo  
Sanctis apostolis omnibus sanctis

Angels quickly learned two things, one that time, like money, would always follow the path of least resistance, and that god had a sense of humour. When Castiel was taken from his garrison maintaining the space between, the dead man’s land of the Evils, and asked to watch a human charge he was also given a place of holiness that he might reflect. His charge was called Dean Winchester, and his sanctuary would become Winchester Cathedral.

His garrison is under the charge of Zophael, Angel of the Between, Heaven’s messenger between humanity, and Hell, so Castiel has been taught neutrality in all things. It is Zophael who raised him from Grigori by breathing life into him, and it is Zophael that he favours.

It is Zophael that he thinks of as he prays in this ancient going-to-be Cathedral, in the body of this weak and honest monk.

Et tibit Pater, Quia peccavi nimis, Cogitatione, Verbo et opere

Castiel wanted to murder his charge. He wanted to break the rounded golden limbs; To smash the teeth in that charming grin; To pluck out those michievous eyes. He wanted Dean to burn.

Mea culpa, Mea maxima culpa

He wanted Dean to stand, barefoot and naked, as the flames licked his shapely calves, up his thighs, across his back until all that was left was the scrap of skin with Castiel’s handprint.

Kyrie Eleison, Kyrie Eleison

Somewhere in future america, somewhere the plains rolled out like the flat of a woman's stomach, Dean Winchester smiled that cheeky grin, those mischievous eyes, at someone else.

Amen


	14. May to December

Dean looked at the boy in front of him, ten years old with an expression that should sour milk, stood there in his school uniform. "I went to a lot of bother to find you." The child said. "My parents will be worried sick, I had to come halfway across the city."

"Look, kid," he began.

"I fell for you, Dean Winchester, and you can damn well take responsibility for it." The child said before he stormed off in a bad temper, his fist to his eyes.

Dean didn't see him again for nearly eight years, when his wandering took him back to the city.

He came back to the motel, jaded, tired, holding a tray of Chinese. "Are you going to invite me in?" the boy asked. Seventeen years old if he was a day, wearing an ugly school uniform with what appeared to be old man trousers.

"Look, kid."

"Castiel," the kid corrected. And Dean frowned. "I was on the verge of hunting you down myself." The boy crossed his arms over his chest. "Because, seriously, if I wasn't pissed about the whole "HUMAN" thing I'd be pissed about the whole "running off" thing."

"I knew a Castiel, but he wasn't you." Dean said. "And that was a world ago."

Castiel rolled his eyes. "I am the one who gripped you tight and raised you from perdition." His voice was a low gravel, completely unlike Jimmy's, the spot on his chin wasn't helping either.

"You are jailbait." Dean added.

Castiel knuckled his forehead, biting at his upper lip. "I'll take them on, I'll take them all on, and next thing I know I'm being born!"

"Well." Dean started.

"So, this is destiny, and you are going to man up and be a decent man about it." Dean blinked in surprise. "I fell for you, Dean Winchester, I lay with you in a series of cruddy motel rooms, and you are responsible for my destiny, whether you like it or not. I have my emancipation papers, I can get my things. My tuition's paid up till the end of the year and I have a full ride to..." He looked at him. "What? You don't get a choice. Being born is bad enough when you don't remember it." He offered Dean a glare and Dean realised that there was no getting out of this. "And besides, the sex should be better now I can feel it properly, I mean not through a meat suit." There wasn't anything Dean could say to that, he just nodded. Then the kid smiled, and Dean could see Castiel in him, in the set of his head, in that private smile only he had seen and thought lost. "I gripped you tight," the child repeated, Dean made sure to mention that word a lot because this may have been castiel but he was jailbait, "and I will not let you fall into Perdition. I turned eighteen three days ago." Dean supposed he wanted to grin, he was just too overwhelmed at the moment.

"I'm nearly fifty." He told the boy.

"And I'm as old as creation." Castiel answered. "where's the problem, it still works doesn't it, I mean, I've never taken this body for a test drive."

"Oh good god," Dean said looking at the sky.

"Yes, Dean, God is good, and sex is one of his most magnificent works. Well look at the time, I really should hit the sack, I've got school in the morning afterall. You wanna drive me."


	15. Dean and Cas in the impala

Dean was sat in the passenger seat of the Impala, Sam snoring in the back, when Castiel appeared. "I'm not going." Dean said bluntly, pillowing his head on one of Sam's old university sweaters against the window. "I don't care, it's."

Castiel turned his head back towards him with firm fingers and cut him off with a kiss.

"I need you." He replied, soft lips pressed against Dean's.

"Sam's."

"Not going to wake up." Castiel assured him and then as if to prove it moved over, with all the wriggling necessary so that he was literally lying on top of Dean in the passenger seat. Sam snuffled and smacked his lips, but didn't wake up.

And Castiel was biting his lips and rubbing his hips, pressed perilously close to Dean's by the dash, his own thigh between Cas' legs up against his erection, his hands around Cas' waist to pull him tighter. If they were quiet they wouldn't wake Sam, Dean reasoned.

It didn't take long, a few quick thrusts and Dean was coming, grunting against Castiel's tongue in his mouth, and the angel was shuddering too.

Cas laid his head against Dean's neck for a long moments to catch his breath, his weight pressing him into the car seat.

"Sleep," he murmured and pressed two fingers against Dean's forehead.

When Dean woke up he was alone, and in the wet spot.


	16. Holiness about you

Dean stared at the door through which Sam had left. Castiel said nothing, stepping in behind him. He just laid his hand on Dean's shoulder and then his forehead on the space between his shoulder blades. "He will come back," Castiel said. "He always does."

Dean just reached up and took the hand on his shoulder within his own. He didn't say anything. He didnt need to.  
He took the comfort as it was offered for long moments. "You should get out of here," he told the angel. "In case they   
come looking for you."

Castiel nodded against his back and then, in a flurry of feathers, was gone.

 

When Dean woke his head was pillowed on Castiel's thigh and the angel was threading his fingers through his hair. "You needed me," Castiel said. It wasn't sexual, it wasn't friendship. Dean wasn't sure what it was, but he needed it desperately. "Go back to sleep," the angel said softly into the darkness. "I am here, I will always be here."

And Dean remembered a line from a song or a play or a film, he couldn't remember exactly, just that it fit. "And holiness about you as you slept." And was glad that the angel understood, that he didnt need to sleep, that he could, whenever every one else left, be there.


	17. Lucifer!Dean 2

"You see," Dean, no Lucifer, said before he dragged his tongue the length of Castiel's cheek. "I thought about it, I mean I did, but Sam, well, he's damaged." He looked over at the younger hunter, pinned against the wall and unconscious. "There was just, well, too much hair, and he was too tall, and everyone expects." He rolled eyes the colour of acid. "I do like to be unpredictable. And besides," he pressed his chest against Castiel's. "You preferred this form, and it hasn't been so long, has it Castiel, that you would forget me, forget what we were to each other."

Of course Castiel remembered. Fire and flame and dust and laughter, the holy forbidden thrill of doing something so simple as laughing, knees pressed to his chest, arms, or their facsimile, wrapped around Lucifer as they discovered exactly what the Great Tree's fruit brought them.

They wanted to share it with everyone, because laughter was glorious and freeing, and kisses, nothing new to either of them, were suddenly broken up by giggles, and fumbles and it was just so new and so delightful.

Then Lucifer offered the new creature, the monkey, a slice of it because it would be wonderful to see her laugh, to see her have joy and wonder and she shared it with her husband, and Lucifer was cast down, it was forbidden didn't they understand that, it was for God alone, didn't they know what lurked under the tree, buried amongst its roots were the fallen angels, their laughter, their wonder, came from the bodies of angels. And Lucifer fell, and Castiel closed himself up and never laughed again.

But humans laughed all the time, and when Dean laughed Castiel remembered and it hurt, but now he was there, and he was smiling, and Castiel remembered, and he smiled too.


	18. Sam meets Sephiroth (FFVII)

"so," Sam said sitting down at the bar next to the silver haired woman in the leather pants, "is that a sword in your pocket or are you just pleased to see me."  
The woman looked at him and Sam realised it wasn't a woman, it was a man, a pretty man with some of the best hair he'd seen - probably a wig - but a man. Oh well, after five tequilas he didn't really care.  
"It is a sword in my pocket." Sephiroth answered.  
"good to know," Sam said. "It's an awfully big sword," he added as the man pulled it out. "I hope it's not overcompensating."  
"No," the man had a voice not unlike Lance Bass which was a bit of a let down. "I use it to find Mother."  
"My mother died in a fire." Sam said, the tequila bringing on the tears. "I hope you find your mother."  
"I will," the man said.  
"M'Sam." sam said offering his hand.  
The man looked at it, but didn't answer. "Well M'Sam," he said eventually, "I could show you the delights of Genova."  
Sam stopped for a moment because he was sure they were in Austin, Texas. "Oh, your sword," he leered, hoping it looked as cute as it did when Dean did it. "Show away, show away."  
(Reply) (Parent) (Thread)


	19. Messiah Dean

It had turned out that the infinite wasn't really that infinite, or that large when pushed. It had been encroached by technology and found itself squeezed into the bits of information people paid for and never used. Dean considered this fair trade for the amount of internet space that was used up with him being full frontal, half with Castiel, which was almost cool, but half with his brother.

The apocalypse had come and gone, not with a bang, but a literal whimper, as mankind discovered that things did lurk in the dark, but that two young men were out hunting them, and that those trashy books that they had well thumbed and gushed over were actually true. In the following centuries this had turned into a religion and the Winchester gospels had been thinned, altered, but at their core was the story of Dionysius Christ who had gone to Hell to better understand his enemy, and was suspended because it was only through suffering that true enlightenment could be reached, and as he was suspended then humanity did not need to be.

And behind him were Robert, the wise sage. Mary who was pictured in white holding aloft a great scroll with flames licking at her feet. John the Hunter, who had paved the way for them. And in the corner, holding up the font, was a twisted demon, painted black with it's tongue lashing.

"I get the religious imagery, I get why you get to be the Buddy Christ," Sam said from behind him in the Virtual Cathedral they had built to his worship on the internet. "But why the hell do they always picture me like that?"


	20. Fishcakes in the park

The only place open that late was the Japanese noodle bar. It was a sign of the times, not even Walmart was open, but there, with it's flashing neon light was a Japanese noodle bar. It almost passed for healthy.

Sam had gotten three large bowls made of bread because Dean always made sure to make the angel eat. Most times Castiel forgot about those things.

He had put them on the picnic table in the park, and excused himself to pee.

When he came back Castiel was fussing over Dean who had one of those naruto-fishcakes stuck to his cheek and was batting Cas away with a strip of the bread that he'd torn off.

Sam suddenly felt very left out and wished for a long moment that he was the one who could pull the fishcake from his brother's chin and eat it the way that the angel did as Dean huffed and puffed and complained about Cas eating his food.

They shared everything anyway.

And Sam, just watched and wanted, and remembered when he had been the one.


	21. Dean meets Schwarz (Weiss Kreuz)

The first thing Dean notices about the boy is his solemn blue eyes. He is small with dark hair and large crystal blue solemn eyes. He wears a solid black suit, shirt and tie. “Cas?” Dean asks, his hand falling away from the gun in his belt.

The man in the white suit behind the desk rolls his eyes, as the boy murmurs “baka amerikajin,” and then with a thought throws him against the wall.

“I’m sure you know by now,” the man in white says standing up, that you have gotten yourself into quite a pickle, Mr Winchester.” He walks around so that he is standing in front of the desk, leaning against it, and adjusts his glasses. “You can let him down now, Nagi,”

The weight comes off Dean so suddenly it’s like he’s underwater and his legs buckle under him. A chair comes scraping across the floor for Dean to sit on. “I’m sure you realise that this isn’t going quite to your plan,” the man says. The boy remains impassive, not even looking at Dean now. “But I have a business arrangement for you that you might find quite profitable, you see, I have heard that you are something of an expert at the eradication of demons.” The man's grin is sharklike. “And of course, we would reimburse you for your effort.”

Dean doesn't trust the man, but if he is offering information on a demon it might be worth staying his hand long enough to find out what’s going on. Even if the boy does look like an angel.


	22. Heaven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> from the Talking Heads song of the same name

Heaven

It's entirely unlike Dean expected, an art deco bar in a hotel. There is a band on the stage and he doesnt' knwo the song but it's the best song in the world. The party is just perfect and Castiel is standing there and it only takes one step, two, to get into his arms.

They rock together to the music before Castiel raises his mouth for Dean to kiss. And when the song is over the band start again, and Castiel smiles against his mouth and that's when Dean knows that this is heaven, but what he did not know is that nothing at all could be so exciting, could be so much fun.


	23. Castiel at Cold Oak

It is the loss which defines him at this moment, sharp, brilliant, and so very cold. He is using cheap bourbon to warm him through but what is odd is not that he feels the loss, but that he does not. He's just cold and tired.

Castiel does not understand this man, the Righteous Man, the scion of Heaven. He has watched for so long that he cannot remember not watching and sometimes he thinks he understands humanity, they react to loss with rage and railing. They hunt down other humans to make them share their pain. He has seen it a hundred, thousand, million times before.

Instead the Righteous Man sits there, the corpse beside him cooling, the blood sludging only with gravity, he sits there and feels nothing and that would terrify him, if only he could feel it.

Castiel does not envy him what comes next- what must be.

He does not envy him the decisions he will make.

Yet there is part of him, something new and unfamiliar, that wishes he could offer him comfort. He cannot, so instead he watches.


	24. Sam/Lucifer wingkink

In the great halls of the palace Lucifer has allowed himself his wings hang, golden in the dawn light, a sacrifice for Sam, a proviso in their agreement. Sam is fascinated by them, they hang there "like Hawkman" he says and runs his fingers along the very edges, unaware that even removed Lucifer can feel the touch thrum along his nerve endings.

And Sam always fights a little at first as Lucifer pins his hands above his head and licks up the length of his neck, it's not defiance, more a knee jerk reaction. Lucifer likes it though.

This close to his wings his power is almost godlike, waning with distance until even across the room he is only more than mortal, so he rips down Sam's chest with one hand tearing away his shirt and pants. "Mine," he hisses in enochian, because who would want this as a vessel when you could have this? He lifts Sam up, presses him against the wings, suppressing the full body shudder it causes as Sam squirms against the feathers. "Mine," he repeats biting down on that long strong neck. Sam is no trifling mortal to easily break, he is strong and vital and hard against Lucifer's chest, twisting his shoulders to break free of the angel's grip.

He has no idea what he's doing as Lucifer flips him, presses him face first into the plumage, into the pinion feathers that are cutting into him, because an angel's wings are as much weapon as transport, and the blood is just making Lucifer hotter.

He pushes inside and Sam casts his head back and cries out, not in pain, perhaps, but his hands are gripping the feathers now and Lucifer knows how fragile his toy is, he knows he could break, but as Sam fists his hands around the soft downy feathers at the top of his wings, he really doesn't care.


	25. Can't unsee

Castiel's hands are possesive, dragging up along tanned skin, thumbs flicking over small nipples. Dean's face is covered by the tee the angel has pulled up but not off, his arms tangled. Dean makes a noise and Sam's can't remember why he came back, why he opened the door, he can barely remember his own name now.

Castiel looks determined, taut, as he mouths the skin pulled tight over the ribs he engraved and then down to the softer skin between ribcage and pelvis, not flabby because there is none of that on Dean and then he bites down, hard!, and Dean yelps and thrusts his hips up, grinding against Castiel's shoulders where his hands are holding him down. His bare feet pressing down hard on the mattress to give himself purchase, leverage and thrust.

Sam swallows before he closes the door, but he can't resist one last look and Castiel is looking at him, blue eyes hard with challenge as if daring him to fight for this prize.

Sam just slams the door and slides down it trying to make sense of what he saw, to catch his breath, to hate himself for finding it so hot.


	26. sex and death

Sex and Death are twins, Dean knows that but there's something just plain primal about Castiel's wings. Since he killed Zachariah Dean can almost see them out of the corner of his eye when Cas is just behind him. They're big and black and powerful, weapons and shield and Dean just wants to run his mouth along them. The demons are lying dead about them, Sam off doing research so he's not in the warehouse where they were only meant to be doing recon, too bad no one told the demons that.

So Dean turns to angel, hopped up on adrenaline and the smell of cordite and Castiel just being there and being capable and a warrior, before he slams him against the wall. "Now?" Castiel asks.

"Now!" Dean repeats and kisses him, pushing his hand down into the cheap charcoal slacks that the angel still wears. Castiel's hands are just as busy as they grind against each other, this is as much a fight as the demons gave them. Castiel makes a small noise of surprise as his fingers find the silk panties Dean is wearing. They were meant to be a surprise for later, and certainly would have been a surprise to the coroner had the demons won.

Cas just pulls the satin a bit tighter, rubbing it against sensitive skin as his own hips, and the hand there - caught in a pair of cotton tighty whiteys - and the two of them don't fuck as much as rut, rubbing agianst each other and grunting like animals.

It says a lot about Dean that he finds the fact he's wearing panties a bit of a turn on, it says a lot about Castiel that he has torn them in his urgency.


	27. Somewhere only we know

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rachel was wrong, Dean doesn't only call for Cas when he needs something

ficlet: somewhere only we know  
Author: Seraphim_grace  
Coda to 6x18  
Rating: G

Dean doesn't summon Castiel, not at first. He summons Balthasar, his head ringing with Rachel's displeasure and some stupid song from the radio.  
He makes his terms clear. He is going to summon Castiel, and Castiel is going to take the day off and Balthasar is going to cope in his absence or so help me god, but if it's a dire, dire, end of the universe emergency then he can come to Dean and ask him to release Castiel.  
People do stupid things when they're tired, they make mistakes, Dean knows that, and one day isn't a lot in the grand scheme of things, but Cas is fighting a war, and even that might be too much.

So Dean summons Castiel. He looks kinda pissed, bedraggled and tired. There are circles under his eyes. "I'm kidnapping you." Dean tells him, looping his arm through the angel's, "we're going to the beach. It is officially," he looks at his watch, "Nine o four am and I have arranged with Balthasar that he can cope until five fifteen pm. Until then, you are mine."

"Dean," Castiel attempts firm but it's just so tired. "I have a war to fight."

"Man, i know that, remember we had that conversation about the general who marched with his armies and he was too fucked up and tired to make the important decisions, and what happened to him?"

"He and his armies were slaughtered." Castiel lowers his eyes.

"Exactly, you don't sleep, we're in California, it's a nice day, the kids are in school so instead we're going to the beach."

\---

Dean doesn't know why he chose the beach, Cas might have been happier in a museum surrounded by old things and memories but the beach, well it's just there. He unloads the blanket and the cooler of food and beer as Castiel just stands on the sand and looks at the ocean. "I do not understand why you have brought me here."

"To have fun." Dean grins at him. "It's the beach, it's what you do here."

"Dean," there it is, that growly warning tone that suggests violence.

"Here," Dean throws him a pair of old cut off jeans and a tee shirt, "put these on." Castiel undresses, the beach is completely deserted, cut off from the road by a sharp incline, but steps are carved into it.

Cas has skinny little chicken legs but he leaves his shoes and socks on. "dude," Dean says unlacing his own boots. "bare feet."

"But then I will get sand between my toes."

Dean's grin nearly splits his face. "You're kinda meant to."

Changed Castiel walks up to the line of where the ocean and land meet. He scrunches his toes into the wet sand and then the water laps over his feet. "It's cold." he says, and watches it retreat.

"Yeah," Dean agrees. "You know what you're supposed to do," he says, "go as close as you can to the water, but don't let it touch you, when it comes near run back, and then try it again." It was a game he played with Sammy, the two of them, exhausted and cranky from long car rides with their dad, running and whooping in the sand, and then eating egg sandwiches their Dad made with the shells sometimes still there and sand everywhere. They were good times, even if their Dad had always been too busy to play and there had only been a few of those days.

Cas tries it, and soon his face loses the harsh lines of war and tiredness, soaking up the sun, and the joy of such a simple, silly game.

Watching him, watching Cas laugh as he tries to outrun the tide. Dean feels a weight lift from his shoulders. That other angel was wrong, he thinks, I don't only call him when I want something, I just didn't want to interrupt his war.

Castiel comes running over to him, chest flushed and almost panting. "I,"

Dean defuses the moment quickly, "here," he says, offering him an orange soda, bought special for this. "It's kinda tradition."

"Thanks." Cas says, and Dean tells himself it's just about the soda. "Are you going to outrun the tide too."

"Actually, after we've eaten, I got a frisbee. I thought I could teach you to play that." The day will soon be over, Dean will go back to his hunt and Cas will go back to his war, but he'll do it with the memory of egg sandwiches, full of sand, and orange soda and wet sand rising up around his toes, and maybe, maybe, it'll get him through.


	28. Sith Happens

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> written for the dean winchester's a little black dress challenge (ie he goes with everything)

Han knows who he is, he's worked out his priorities over the years, knows the best way to smile to charm the ladies, and is working his way around the galaxy in a hundred or so imperial lays. It's the kind of thing that a rogue needs a wookie to watch his back for, so he doesn't know what it is about the two men in the bar asking to hire his ship. It's a convenient lie for smuggling crystals and gives him an excuse to be in that part of the galaxy for the patrols, because afterall the milennium falcom is rated for passengers.

The tall man wears a black robe, his hair over long and there is this wierd look to his eyes that makes Han's blood run cold. He has a handle hanging from his belt but there's something about it that suggests it's a weapon and that he'd lose in the fight.

The other man is tall, just not as tall as his companion and has a rogue's smile and dark as Han's own, and he makes Han question. It's not the tight pants, because he's not wearing them that tight, in fact he is dressed like a Naboo guard, minus the hat. He's also armed to the teeth, but they have money and that's all that really matters.

But han's a lady's man, a man's man, a man about town, he has no interest in where other people dip their wicks, he prefers them soft and curvy with billows and dips of flesh, but this guard, this man with his acid coloured eyes and Tattooine coloured skin, that makes Han wonder what it would be to lie with such a man, to feel the hard edges of his skin, the sinews and lengths of male muscles and strong firm hands.

The other man, the tall one, looks at him like he's dirt, "my brother is a sith," he says and Han doesn't know the word, "he is above such things."

But there's something in the sith's smile, slow and easy, that suggests that what his brother doesn't know won't hurt him.


	29. Dean Winchester's a little black dress - Wolverine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean and a man in a bar

There's something about the man in the biker jacket that is just plain not quite right, but Dean has yet to place it. Holy water tipped in his Maker's Mark just gave him a sort of funny look because someone had watered down his bourbon. Yet Dean can feel it, a sort of sixth sense, that he's not quite right.  
Dad would know, he thinks, but Dad's not here, and instead he's in a crappy roadside bar wondering what it is that is setting off his radar. "You got a name, kid, to go with the staring?" The man's voice is gruff, the accent canadian but old, like he hasn't been there for a long long time. He sounds, when he speaks, like he doesn't do it often.  
"Yeah," Dean answers but doesn't take it further than that, kid can work for now. "You got a name to go with the questions, old man?"   
"Yeah," the man answers, but doesn't offer it. He just pushes a second bourbon glass along the counter.  
They don't say anything for a while, but he has these perfect little silver scars on the back of his hands which might possibly be the hottest thing Dean has ever seen. They're man hands too, strong, powerful and determined.

Later in the motel room, no names between them those hands knead the muscles along Dean's flanks as he ruts into him like an animal. There is a squelchy wet sound between them and Dean is full to bursting, over slick with lube and come, because this man's refactory period is almost inhuman quick, but he has these coarse dark blonde hairs on his thighs, across his chest, and makes this growly grunty noise when he thrusts up with enough force that he slams Dean into the headboard which bounces off the wall behind him.

There is feathers and torn sheets around them, and later, when Dean watches him go, happily fucked and sore, he opens his hand to reveal the man's ring and the inscription, "for my only JH", it's a little something to remember the evening by, and make sure the man will be back.


	30. Black Hat = black dress challenge

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> featuring Black Hat from priest

The creature isn't a vampire, it's something else, something new and distinct but close enough to vampire that the word must apply. It is almost offensively male, a long black wool coat like a cape to flick out behind him in Donna Karan flashes, and the hat to cover the scar on his face, where it looks like something was cut away.  
Dean's close enough to see the teeth, canines like a dog but otherwise human, and the eyes are honey yellow as Dean slowly tips his throat. The creature, the vampire, runs his tongue the length of the muscle in a hot wet stripe, "you must be prepared to sin," the creature's voice is a low gravel, a deep syrupy accent and Dean wants to strike, to attack, to kill, but he's held in those eyes, the flash of daylight off those teeth, the promise of violence in the hands that clutch him by the arms.  
Oh god, he thinks, i'm the chick in Fright Night, "because if you aint sinning, you aint having fun."  
Preaching to the choir part of Dean thinks, the other parts just wants - he's not even sure what.  
The vampire pulls his hat off his head and slips it down on Dean's, backstepping into the quiet corner of the bar, smelling of whiskey and sweat and promise and lust and Dean knows this is it. He's seen Fright Night after all, "so tell me, kid," the vampire drawls, pushing his thigh between Dean's legs, hard enough that he has to know how hard Dean is. "Are we having fun yet?"

The room is spinning. Dean is caught in those eyes, the colour of butter blushed through with honey and those endless pupils. The skin is olive where vampires are usually pasty, but he is golden tanned. And then there is the teeth, the way that they catch at his tongue when he kisses, the smooth perfection of them, the way that they're almost human, just a touch to long.  
Dean's man enough to admit that perhaps that this thing's inhumanity is part of the attraction.  
Part of him is saying that this thing is putting the whammy on me, the other part doesn't care as it rides the creature's legs slowly, looking like he's dancing to the music he's sure must be playing behind him.  
The hands on his hips feel like they're touching naked flesh, hard and scoured, callused with bitten nails and that hint of wool against the wrist. Dean's sure he can feel it against his skin through the jeans.  
It's like he's naked. It's like he's the only person in this dank club. It's like they're the only people in the universe and all that matters is the smell of it, the taste of it, the feel of the air like blankets around them.  
The creature, without letting go his grip, like clamps on his hips, jumps, up, through the glass of the skylight like batman in reverse and Dean can't help but feel that it's hot. The air is suddenly crisp and empty but it just makes the creature smell richer, red wine, whiskey, pennies, salt and virility as he openly mouths at Dean's neck. He pulls him in, tugging at him like he's naked, that the bruises are as much the point as this, head tilted back Dean can't help but think, what will it feel like, how will it taste if he bites me.

"You have to tell me," the vampire, the creature, dhampir perhaps, drawls in that honeysuckle voice of his that is like broken glass in syrup. The one that goes straight to Dean's balls and lies there heavy and hot, "the sins we can commit, the things that will linger against that soul of yours, things that atoning for will be worth it."  
"Fuck me," Dean grunts into that voice, those eyes, the flash of teeth, the blood he knows is staining his teeth as the creature, broad enough to make Dean feel thin, tall enough to tower leans over and knocks the hat from his head, teeth nipping the tender flesh of his ears, sharp enough to bleed, to burn with bloody heat.  
"Is that all you want, kid?" the vampire says and his teeth graze the skin over the neck, pulled taut and the cords straining.  
"How do you want to sin?" Dean answers, no intention of being a passive victim in this, he can give as much as he takes.  
The vampire, creature, dhampir, casts his head back and laughs and more than anything Dean wants this man, vampire, creature, dhampir, under him, cock spearing him, hands like wooden blocks holding his hips hard enough to hurt, one against the small of his back, and teeth flashing in the light as he grunts and groans.  
Oh he wants the thing to fuck him, he can behead it later if it turns nasty, but it's such a small word for what he wants, coarse hair along the outside of his thighs, pubic hair like wire scouring his balls as he bounces, the pull of muscles only used for that. Those rough hands, that honeysuckle voice that feels like it scours away the outermost layer of skin, and the promise of violence, the threat of it. Oh, yes, Dean thinks, fuck is the only word he has, but it's not what he wants, not the very least of it.


	31. Sleep

Fic: Sleep  
Author: Seraphim Grace  
Fandom = Supernatural / Weiss Kreuz  
Rating = PG13  
Pairing = Dean x Castiel x Crawford  
for stratospherique

Crawford sat on the armchair in their shared bedroom and looked out at the two of his pets sleeping, twined around each other like puppies, Dean had his cheek on Castiel's shoulder where Castiel slept face down. Dean had draped himself over the angel, who was sprawled on the mattress, in such a way he could see both the collar and the trackling anklet that he made them wear.

It said a lot that Crawford had been able to come in without waking either of them, in their year together they had come to trust him. They knew the anklets were to prevent them being taken, a powerful man could not allow weaknesses and the leader of the Rosenkreuz Institute had dangerous enemies.

He smiled as he got up, loosening his tie and sitting on the edge of the bed, running a fingertip along the line of Dean's arm, but he had dangerous pets as well.

Dean cracked open an eye, not quite as deeply asleep as Castiel, who loved to sleep and slept indulgently, "Come to bed," Dean slurred against Castiel's shoulder, at the tattoo of wings across the angel's back, a beautiful reminder of what he had been, "you work too hard." It was a fond admonition, a soft chide from a lover.

Crawford removed his tie and let it pool on the floor, wondering if he could afford a couple of extra minutes sleep more than the usual four he allowed himself, something he had already used today, tantalised by Castiel dozing on the couch in front of the television. "I can't," he said, "I just."

Castiel's eyes were knife slits in the darkness. "Get into bed," he said and then he rolled unto his side, showing the soft warmth of the mattress where he had been, and Crawford was human, given to temptation and he shook his head, undoing his belt with quick fingers, sliding into the bed beside them before he had even peeled off his shirt.


	32. All fired up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean/Castiel/Roy Mustang

The man on the stage had a twinkle in black black eyes as the music started, the lead guitar setting the rhythm and the drummer having to keep up, he waved his microphone as behind him the words started to scroll across the screen. He tapped his right leg in time to the beat as his black black hair caught the stage lights "living with my eyes closed, going day to day," the women in the audience immediately got to their feet, the man had a fair voice but he knew this song and there was something about him that was like liquid sex, he had a smile like a promise of something dirty, rough and worth it. "I never knew the difference i never cared either way, looking for a reason, searching for a sign, reaching out with both hands, gotta feel the kick inside."  
At the back of the bar two men sat holding beers, their expressions bored, one of them wringing the neck of the bottle as the other picked at the label.

The man on the stage was snake hipped and lascivious, a wet dream from someone's music video in black jeans and plain tee, a gold amulet banging on his chest as he danced was encouraging the audience to sing along with him and all the girls were more than happy to do so. "And I believe there comes a time, when everythign just falls in line, we live and learn by our mistakes the deepest cuts are healed by faith."

At his booth Dean laughed to himself and Castiel tilted his head, "you know, Hotstuff up there won't do anything with them."

"No," Castiel agreed, "but he is enjoying himself." That was fond as their third strutted like a peacock on the stage for the women to scream at - in a karaoke bar of all places.

"He does enjoy the attention, that's true." Dean smiled then called over another beer.

"Three," he gave her a shark's grin. "Hotstuff will want one when he comes down. If he comes down off the stage."

The woman smiled and pocketed the notebook she had held, "oh he can stay there all night if he wants to." She sighed.

"No, he cannot," Castiel said bluntly, "one more song and then I will have to take him home."

"Oh," the waitress smiled, "are you Roy's brothers?"

Dean's eyes went dark, almost as black as Roy's own. "No," he said bluntly. "He'll come back all fired up," Dean continued, naming the song Roy was singing deliberately.

The girl's look was instantly hopeful.

Castiel was the one to break it to her, "you misunderstand," he said calmly, "Roy is, he likes to be watched by the ladies, he likes to sing, to make a spectacle of himself, even in the bedroom, that's why he needs us both, so there's always someone to watch."

The waitress almost dropped her tray, "both of you?" she asked, then gave a low whistle, "way to go Hotstuff!" Then smacking her gum between her teeth she walked off with a grin.

Castiel looked bemused for a moment, "there was a time when women would be horrified that the object of their affections preferred the touch of men."

"Yeah," Dean agreed sadly, "but that was before the internet."


	33. Bodyslide by three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean/Castiel/Cable (Marvel Universe)

Bob, agent of HYDRA leaned back and looked at the young man across the table from him as said young man cleared the table of chips and candy bars. Money had no value in Providence but junk food was worth it's weight in whatever else they valued up here.

The man had a shark's grin, sharptoothed and virile, his eyes sparkled with danger and mischief and so far of all the players at the table only Bob had given him any challenge. Captain America, who terrified Bob, Wolverine, and others had all lost to his poker playing, even Black Box who was aware of everything.

"If Deadpool was here he woulda beat you," Bob said quietly, but the young man laughed, and looked over to the balcony overlooking the floating city where Cable stood, his head downcast as he surveyed his kingdom. Another man, dark haired with such solemn blue eyes stood next to him and they spoke quietly.

There was a soft comfort in the man's expression as he watched them, then popped a peanut M&M into his mouth. "Hey, Cas, I won all the brown ones for you."


End file.
